by Jack Murray
The moon glimmered like a halo over the hellish scene below. Its luminous purity was in mute contrast to the astonishing testimony to man’s ceaseless quest to find new, more effective ways to kill and destroy. Danny looked on, mesmerised by the wall of white light and the scream of shells. It stopped briefly and then as if they could not be tamed, the guns started again. Overhead was the throbbing drone of bombers who were about to unleash yet more misery on the enemy.
PG was right. They were dug in. Waiting. It’s not as if they hadn’t done this before. It’s not as if this tactic hadn’t been tried before. It didn’t work then. Why should it be any more successful now? Danny tried to ignore the voices in his head but even the bludgeoning bellows of the guns could not drown out the sound of his fears.
‘What do you think, Shaw?’ asked Benson, as they gazed at the angry horizon.
‘I think,’ replied Danny, ‘That I need some more tea, sir.’
‘Excellent idea, Shaw.’
Danny turned to McLeish who made no secret at his displeasure at being asked to brew up at this time. His sullen expression made Danny forget his fears for a moment and made him feel a bit better.
‘Well done, Danny,’ said Andrews. ‘Leadership is all about the art of delegation.’
-
The radio burst into life seconds after the barrage started. Manfred was more interested in listening to what was being said on the radio than what he was seeing and hearing. It all seemed so far away to him. Then the radio went dead. Kiel and Kleff both took turns at it. They turned to Basler. The lieutenant looked from them to the radio and then pointed to the horizon that was lit with a blinding light.
‘I think it’s safe to say that our friends have decided enough is enough.’
It was an unusual reflection on the commencement of battle. Manfred turned his attention to the horizon and the flashing and the distant screams of shells. Panzer Regiment 8 was, relatively speaking, a long way from the desperate shelling that was raining down on the forward positions. There, in the line of fire, were the anti-tank guns and the German and Italian infantry arrayed in front of the minefields. They were situated near the Alarm Piste, just in front of the headquarters.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Kiel. He was fidgeting with a cup.
‘Let them fire,’ snapped Basler. He seemed irritated, but not at Kiel. ‘If they want to waste their ammunition on rocks and sand, let them. When the sun comes up, we’ll see them all before us, stuck in the middle of a minefield trying to reach Kidney Ridge. We’ll pick them off. They never learn.’
They had talked about the two ridges in front of them endlessly. Kidney Ridge and Meteiriya Ridge to its south were both of strategic importance to the Allies. For this reason, tens of thousands of mines had been planted in the areas surrounding them; guns were trained on them. Any attempt to take them would be met by a hail of fire that no one could survive.
The Meteiriya Ridge ran parallel to the coast, twenty kilometres inland. It was around five kilometres long and extended in a series of features forming another low ridge that was shaped like a kidney. These two points were held by the Germans and were certain to be targets for the expected Allied assault.
Basler, although dismissive of the likely tactics that the Allies were to use, was distinctly on edge. Manfred knew why. They had been talking the previous day about the anticipated advance from the enemy.
‘They will be stuck in the minefields. We’ll shoot at them until our ammunition runs out.’
Manfred asked the question he already knew the answer to.
‘What happens then?’
‘They’ll just send more men to attack. They’ll climb over the dead bodies of their comrades and we shall fall back as far as our petrol will allow us to.’
Basler eyed Manfred closely as he said this. It felt strange to have been given such an insight into Basler’s mood. Yet, increasingly, Basler was less able to disguise his state of mind. It stood in marked contrast to so many around them. There had been an air of unreality about the period leading up to the beginning of the barrage. So much so that Manfred now avoided conversation with anyone except Fischer about what lay ahead.
The simple fact was, no one knew the extent of or, at least, was willing to acknowledge, the obvious disparity between the two sides in terms of men and materiel. To a man they knew they were better soldiers. They had proved this time and again. But this was not an equal fight.
Manfred listened to the barrage in silence. Light flickered on the faces of his fellow crew like they were watching a film at the cinema. It wasn’t fear they were experiencing at that moment; they were all too numbed by cold and hunger. Nor was it resignation, for despite everything, there was still a flicker of hope that they could win. Rather it was the sense of living in a dream. The noise and the pyrotechnics of what had been unleashed by the Allies was hypnotic and horribly beautiful. But the initial awe gave way, once more, to realisation that soon they would all be in the middle of this storm. Manfred and the others trembled in the cold of the night and waited. It was not shelling they had to fear but the silence that followed. That’s when the enemy would come. That’s when the fighting would start.
39
Ladenburg, Germany, 23rd October 1942
The first rumble of thunder came as Peter Brehme waited for Keller to emerge from the station. The Gestapo man loped over towards him like a Labrador about to go for a walk. His face split with a triumphant grin. It seemed like he was about to burst into song. He took his hands from his pocket and handed a piece of paper to Brehme.
‘These are the homes we are going to visit.’
Visit? Brehme could have laughed. As it happened, he already knew the list. Keller couldn’t know this of course. Brehme studied the list with a frown. He was no actor, but he did a nice line in impassivity and neutrality when he had to.
‘Becker?’ he exclaimed but not too dismissively. He turned his eyes towards Keller in disbelief. ‘They are an old couple. Are you really telling me they are harbouring Jews?’
Keller nodded exultantly.
‘What proof do you have?’ pressed Brehme. It would look odd if he, at least, didn’t demand this. In truth, he just wanted it all over with. The rain was getting heavier now and the ink on the paper was running. The two men started to move towards Brehme’s police car.
‘Do you want to come with me?’ asked Brehme.
‘Yes,’ replied Keller starting to trot, his shoes splashing on the pavement.
They reached the car and climbed in. Just as he was about to start the motor, Brehme saw Graf running towards them. He nearly slipped on the wet road. Around him the other police cars and military vehicles were departing.
Graf fell into the back seat and apologised. Brehme felt like shaking his head but decided not to humiliate the policeman in front of Keller. He started the engine and soon they were off.
‘I want to go to Becker’s house. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I need to see with my own eyes, Ernst. This is extraordinary.’
‘I quite understand. To answer your question, we have testimony from Herr Weber at the grocery store that Becker and some of the others on that list are buying unusually large quantities of food.’
‘They have a dog,’ pointed out Brehme. It sounded weak, even to him. The Gestapo man laughed sardonically.
‘This dog obviously likes potatoes,’ replied Keller. He made little attempt to hide his contempt.
The first flashes of lightning were now visible, and the thunder crashed more loudly. It felt like a portent. But for who? Brehme felt his chest tighten. The Jewish families had all been spirited away to the Kramer farm. Robert Sauer, a mere schoolboy, had confirmed that they would be moved within twenty-four hours. How he knew, Brehme did not inquire.
The rain was falling very heavily now, the wipers fighting a losing battle against its intensity. Behind him was another car. At least eight policemen and Gestapo would overpower an elderly couple. It was almost laughable, yet his
insides were churning. If they found some sign that there had been other people in the house, then it was all over. They wouldn’t take long to break the Beckers. They knew nothing of Kramer. but Robert Sauer did. And so did he. They would be questioned and slowly the whole house of cards would crumble.
The Becker house was up ahead. He could see the lights on in the front room. Perhaps they would be sitting down to their evening meal, able to relax for perhaps the first time in over a year. Except they knew there would be visitors. Brehme wondered how they would react. So much depended on them.
The car pulled to a stop and they got out. Keller silently ordered the other policemen around the back of the house. A few people on the street had seen what was happening and were milling towards them.
Brehme and Graf followed the Gestapo man to the front door. Keller was about to batter the front door with the heel of his fist when Breme held a hand up. Inside a dog began to bark.
‘Let me,’ he said and stepped forward in front of Keller. He knocked on the door. It wasn’t a loud knock and Keller was visibly irritated at having this part of his show ruined. He’d wanted noise and fear. In its place was polite restraint. He was about to take over proceedings when he heard the door being unlatched then opened.
Otto Becker stood there staring stupidly at Brehme and then Keller. It was quite a performance, thought Brehme. He really looked like he had no idea of what was going on.
‘Herr Brehme,’ said Becker after a few moments, ‘but what are you doing here?’ He didn’t need to add, ‘with all these policemen’? That was evident from the glance he shot Keller and Graf. Felix the Labrador had come to see what was going on. His tail was wagging in a welcoming manner. He started to bark.
‘Shush, Felix,’ said Becker.
‘Herr Becker, we have reason to believe you are harbouring foreign nationals. Let us in.’
Foreign nationals? Brehme glanced at Keller in surprise. He’d known Dr Glickman all his life. Now he was an enemy of the state. A fifth columnist of sorts. Brehme almost snorted in disgust.
Keller stepped forward; his patience was wearing thin. He pushed Becker to one side. Felix realised that this was not a friendly visitor and began to growl. Keller turned to Becker as he passed, ‘Control that dog or I will shoot it.’
There was no question he meant it. Becker bent down and tried to calm Felix. He glanced up at Brehme as he entered. Brehme merely shrugged at Becker and followed Keller into the house along with Graf. The other policemen were in the kitchen now. One of them was Erich but he stood back a little to let his senior colleagues take the lead. There was a look of excitement on his face. Brehme felt his hatred for the boy rise. This was his war. The only one he was qualified to wage: against old men and women.
‘Start searching,’ ordered Keller.
Becker had found his voice, or at least pretended to.
‘This is an outrage. Who are you? Herr Brehme, what is the meaning of this?’
Brehme turned to Keller and raised his eyebrows. He had no intention of justifying the unjustifiable. This was Keller’s show. He would let the Gestapo man explain. Keller ignored the complaints and shouted to the policemen to turn the place inside out. Then he spun around to Becker.
‘Do you have an attic?’ demanded Keller.
‘Or cellar?’ added Brehme. This thought impressed Keller as much as it surprised him.
‘Or cellar,’ added Keller unnecessarily.
‘We don’t have an attic,’ said Becker in a more resigned voice. ‘We do have a cellar.’
‘Show me,’ said Keller. Becker led Brehme, Keller and Graf out the back door and towards the door leading to the cellar.
By this stage Brehme was marvelling at the performance of Becker. He was walking the fine line between defeat and anger with aplomb. His business at the door was worthy of Chaplin. A brief explanation that the cellar was rarely used was emphasised by a slight struggle to open the door. He turned to Brehme and smiled with embarrassment. Rain dripped off his hat but there was no mistaking the anger in the eyes of Keller.
‘It’s a little stuck,’ said Becker with a shrug.
‘Let me try,’ said Brehme, pretending impatience. Much to his surprise it was. There had been no such problems the previous evening. Becker had obviously done something with the key. Finally, after a few shakes, the key managed to do its job. The door dragged along the ground. Another nice touch thought Brehme.
‘There’s no electricity down here,’ said Becker as they stepped forward into a dark stairwell. Keller took out a torch and lit up the stairs. It was bitterly cold. This would have been uninhabitable. The first glimmerings of doom were already puncturing the confidence Keller had felt on the way here.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door. The room was empty now save for some junk and furniture partially covered by dusty bedsheets. This was turning into a bravura performance. Brehme glanced at Becker. The little man remained impassive, but he gave another shrug of his shoulders. The resignation mixed with confusion was beginning to wear away the confidence of Keller.
‘Any other rooms?’ demanded Keller. His voice was almost shrill with anger. Or perhaps fear. There was nothing to suggest that this room had been used in recent months.
‘No,’ said Becker simply.
They trooped back upstairs to the back yard. Thunder crashed overhead and the rain seemed to intensify. Their feet splashed through puddles as they made their way back to the kitchen. They met with the other policemen inside. Brehme saw one give a shake of his head.
It was clear that the old couple could not possibly have been harbouring anyone. Raging eyes turned on Becker. Felix was barking for all his worth. This served only to increase Brehme’s anxiety. He suspected Keller was not far away from violence. Keller’s temperature gauge was rising rapidly. He recognised the signs. They had reached a danger point.
Keller turned to the dog. His hand went to his pocket. Brehme knew what would happen now. He stepped in front of Keller blocking out his view of Felix. He motioned with his eyes to Agatha Becker to remove Felix just as Keller screamed in his ear, ‘Get that dog out of here.’
Agatha Becker immediately grabbed Felix’s collar and led him into the adjoining living room. This seemed to mollify the Labrador a little. She knelt down and stroked him, but all the time kept her eyes on Keller.
Denied the chance to inflict violence, Keller spun around to Becker and snarled at him, ‘If I find anything that proves you’ve been lying to me then you and your wife will face the direst of consequences.’
Brehme silently prayed that Becker kept his council. This was not the time for grandstanding. Evidently Becker was of a like mind for he looked fearful. Of course, this may not have been acting, reflected Brehme. He was still feeling tense.
Felix began barking but Agatha Becker remained with him and spoke soothingly. This seemed to have an effect.
‘I can assure you that we would never do such a thing,’ said Becker fearfully.
Felix stopped barking now which, perhaps, only irritated Keller further. He wanted to act. Hurt someone or something. He glared at Becker impotent with rage but could not think of anything else to say. His face was burning red now. His humiliation was complete. Brehme remained silent and scanned the room just in case there was anything incriminating.
Then he felt his stomach lurch.
Lying by one of the chairs was an old, battered teddy bear. He couldn’t breathe. His heart began to accelerate. The toy was out in the open. He wanted to leap over the table and hide it. Instead, he could do nothing but stand there, powerless. Thunder rumbled outside once more as they stood there looking at one another wondering what to do next. A flash of lightning and the back door blew open bringing rain into the kitchen. Erich shut the door. Finally, Keller turned to the other uniformed men.
‘You’re sure there was nothing?’ asked Keller through gritted teeth.
A curt nod followed. The other Gestapo man was clearly irritated by t
heir failure and particularly by Keller’s hubris. In the nod Brehme suspected there was little love lost between the two men. But they were not safe yet. One of the SS men was standing just a few feet away from the teddy bear.
Brehme held his breath. Just then Felix left the kitchen area and moved towards the chair where the teddy was lying. He began to sniff the toy. Brehme couldn’t look. By doing so, he feared he’d draw attention to what was so obvious to him. There lay the evidence that Keller sought.
Erich went over to the dog and began to stroke it. Brehme felt faint. How could he not see what the dog was sniffing? Was he a complete idiot? The answer, Brehme realised, was ‘yes’. However, one of the other men might see what was happening.
Then Felix picked the teddy up and trotted into the kitchen holding it in his mouth. Brehme wanted to die right then. It was over now, surely. He looked at Becker. His face was white. He’d seen it, too.
And so had Graf.
Brehme looked at Graf. The little man’s face was impassive, but he could not miss the panic in the eyes of his chief. Keller was muttering angrily to himself beside Brehme. Graf and Brehme continued to stare at one another. Then Graf bent down to the dog.
He grabbed one end of the teddy and began to pull it. The dog pulled back. Growling. But not angrily. It was a game to him.
Graf continued pulling at the teddy, but he was also doing something else. He was leading the dog out of the kitchen into the adjoining living room. The Labrador’s tail was wagging furiously.
Keller shouted at Graf.
‘Stop doing that, you cretin. Let’s go.’
He spun around and stalked out of the kitchen towards the front door followed by his men. Graf stood up and returned to the kitchen, his eyes never left those of Brehme’s.
Soon it was only Brehme and the Beckers in the kitchen. No one could speak. It’s difficult to chat when you can’t breathe. Brehme’s heart was still racing. With a nod to the householders, Brehme followed the others out of the front door. The rain was lashing down outside yet a small crowd of onlookers were there to add a further layer of humiliation to Keller’s evening. He ignored Brehme’s car and climbed into the car of his men.
